


Sweet Song

by apostate (394percentdone)



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff, don't ask bull for advice, dorian Maybe, just don't doubt yourself krem!, satinalia gifts are harder than they look, you goof
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-20 23:30:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17031996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/394percentdone/pseuds/apostate
Summary: Krem struggling to figure out what kind of Wintersend gift to get for Maryden for an impromptu party at the Herald's Rest





	Sweet Song

**Author's Note:**

  * For [samzillastomps](https://archiveofourown.org/users/samzillastomps/gifts).



> this is far longer than i expected it to be, and far fluffier than i intended, enjoy! <3

It’s a good thing Krem has good balance. With the way the chair wobbles under him as he tries, mostly unsuccessfully, to peer around the stairs to watch Maryden sing he needs to have it. And he can’t help but look. The firelight almost causes her skin to glow rosy gold, catches in her dark hair and the way her eyes shine as she sings, it's enough to- Wood creaks under him as Krem all but topples backward off the top of the chair. Catching himself with a hand in the last moment, wrist aching as his hand connects with the wall at an awkward angle, and he can hear Bull’s laugh across the room. Bastard.

It isn’t like Bull hasn’t made a fool of himself in front of people before. Although Krem guesses those are more on purpose than not. He sighs, rights the chair and sits back down in it, properly this time. He can’t see her anymore, but if he’s telling the truth he doesn’t _really_ need to. The sight of her before the fire is, distracting and definitely something he thinks about often. Not that Krem has done anything about the way her voice filling the tavern makes his chest feel too tight and too light, or said anything about how her smiles can cause a blush to cover his whole body.

Not yet, anyway. Krem has a plan, and he means to follow through with it. He just… Has to figure out how. Time’s running quite short, tonight there’s going to be a small Satinalia party at the Herald’s Rest and Krem still doesn’t know what he should get Maryden, or even if she’d accept anything from him.

At first, he thought it would be easy. She’s a minstrel, get her a journal or a new set of strings for her lute. But those sounded empty and Krem wants to be _thoughtful_ damn it. He wants to see Maryden blush, he wants to make her smile, he wants to see the softness in her eyes generally reserved for those times she’s singing to be directed just at him.

So he sighs. And he walks over to where Bull is sitting at a table with what has to be the Rest’s largest tankard sitting in front of him. And as Krem rounds the corner he finds Dorian is sitting there as well, great. “Krem-puff! Finally decided to find a decent chair did you?”

“My chair is already decent, I’ve got a question.” There’s a nervousness gnawing in the pit of his stomach and Krem doesn’t care for it one bit. But he takes Bull’s raised eyebrow for a go ahead and strangles the butterflies in his gut. “Uh, so. The Satinalia party, tonight.” His tongue is twisting around itself and Krem thinks maybe he should just go outside and pretend he never heard of this party instead of asking Bull for romance advice. “I, uh, wanted to -you know- get a present, a _thoughtful_ present but... I, uh, don’t actually know what to get… Her…”

Raising his own, much smaller glass Dorian gives Krem a verifiable look. One elegant eyebrow raised ever so slightly, glass tipped in Krem's direction, red wine nearly spilling but not quite. “Thoughtful presents generally require more than an afternoon’s work.”

“I didn’t ask _you_ Altus.” Krem gives him a look back.

Bull just nods, as if he was almost expecting this of them and Krem narrows his eyes at him too. “Listen Chief I didn’t come over here for bullshit I w-”

He’s cut off with a laugh, Bull shaking his head slightly. “Nah no bullshit, this is important.” At least he looks like he’s going to be serious, with the way his face scrunches up. “Well, Krem-sickle, the first thing about getting someone a gift is you gotta know what they want. Don’t look at me like that- so you know she likes writing and singing since you watch her do that every day. Do you know, anything else about her?”

Krem opens his mouth to say ‘of course he does’ and then shuts it after he can’t think of a single other thing he knows she enjoys. His brows bunch together and he crinkles his nose. Bull watches him think in silence, a smirk forming on his face. “I know she likes writing and singing, it’s not like there’s much else to do here is there. I thought, maybe she’d like a new journal?” Saying it out loud makes him cringe. It’s so insincere, careless almost. “That sounds stupid, doesn’t it. But I don’t know what else to do.”

Bull keeps nodding and Krem’s stomach is in knots. “She’d appreciate it, new journal new quill, something to use.”

Before he can keep going Dorian interrupts with a snort. “Get her something no one else can.” A delicate sip of his wine, eyes looking over the rim at Krem. “Woo her, you’re a sharp young man surely you can think of something. Read her poetry, pick her flowers, write her something. Creative types drink it up.”

If his knee-jerk reaction is anything to go by this is a _horrible_ idea. Everything from his hair to his toes is going numb at the thought of it. Him? Writing poetry? _Picking flowers?_ Krem almost tells Dorian he’d rather run himself through with a rusty training sword but then he stops to think about it. It was what he wanted to do, wasn’t it? Put thought into a gift Maryden would remember and hopefully enjoy.

And if he makes a fool of himself maybe he could recover from that.

Or maybe he could also fake his death and make a new start in Antiva.

“That’s. Not bad Altus, not bad.” Never let it be said Krem was too proud to give credit where it’s due. Even if it does curdle the words in his mouth. He has a couple of hours, it wouldn’t take him too long to do something like that, would it? Better get started now just in case, Krem leaves the table with a nod in the direction of the other two still sitting there.

The party starts at sundown, Krem heads to his room and hunts down some paper and a quill. If he’s quick he might even be able to get there before the others and give it to her without anyone else seeing. And he’ll be quick, even with his stomach trying to turn itself inside out, Krem can do this!

* * *

He absolutely could not do this. Crumpled paper is scattered about his room, in various states of tatter, and a near-empty bottle of ink rests near his elbow. This is hopeless, Maryden does this for a living she wouldn’t want whatever half-assed shitty poem he could cobble together like a child. What an idiot he is, sitting here with ink stains on his hands, he’s a mercenary what in Andraste’s name is he doing trying to write _poetry_?

Krem groans, wads up the paper he was currently using and throws it backward behind him, not wanting to look at the ugly chicken scratches and horribly clunky phrasing any longer. Drops his head onto the desk, hard wood against his skin. All he wanted was a simple present! How did he manage to muck it up so badly?

There’s a cool breeze coming from the direction of the door and Krem turns sharply towards it, not wanting anyone to see the mess he’s made. But there isn’t anyone there. Krem huffs, relieved and embarrassed and definitely probably almost late for the party. He stands, stretches, maybe he just shouldn’t get Maryden anything after all. She could do better than him anyway.

A ghost of a thought across his mind, _‘but she wants you’_. Krem rolls his eyes, he’s been daydreaming too much lately. Been thinking about the firelight in Maryden’s hair and on her skin too much. Thinking how the way her eyes sometimes catch his and a smile grows on her lips. He sighs again, he really is in too deep.

Distracted by her enough it takes Krem an embarrassingly long time to notice there is a freshly picked amaryllis, blood red and shining. Narrowing his eyes at the flower he gingerly walks over and picks it up by the stem. He _definitely_ did not pick it, but he can’t think of who would, or why. But he thinks of Maryden in the tavern, of the way she would be readying her lute in front of the fire, and of the party about to start. And he thinks of the smile she would give, just for him, if he gave her a winter-blooming flower.

Leaves with it held in front of him, butterflies returning to his stomach in full force. Walks down to the Herald’s Rest anyways, enters to the sound of laughter and flutes. Not Maryden’s music, too fast and too untrained, Krem looks around to see if he can find her, amaryllis moving behind his back.

Finds her standing just off next to the fire, lute in hand, where she’s in just enough shadow to be overlooked for now. Perfect. Quietly, Krem makes his way across the tavern and with his chest about to burst he tries to clear his throat softly. “Maryden?”

She looks up, eyes wide and dark in the flickering firelight. “Krem? Are you here to make a request, I’m not playing ye-”

“Oh! No, I, um, I’m here to- I mean I came over-” Tripping over himself, making an absolute fool of himself. “I just, sorry let me start over.” Krem takes a deep breath, pulls the amaryllis out from behind him held delicately by ink-stained fingers. “I want to give you this, I had- Um, I tried to write you a poem but, turns out I’m not as good at it as you are.”

Maryden smiles and its better than anything Krem has ever been able to imagine. All at once each of the butterflies in his stomach take flight, leaving him breathless and light. Heart hammering in his chest, a slight blush rising in Maryden’s cheeks. “How sweet of you.”

Her fingers brush against his as she takes the flower from his slack grip. Holds it up to her nose and takes a deep breath, her eyes falling shut only to open a moment later and connect with Krem’s. The warmth in them, brown turned honey-gold by the fire, causes his heart to flip in his chest.

“You know, in Ferelden we have our own Satinalia flowers.” A smile with a hint of teeth, “And if you look up, we happen to be standing under one of my favorites.”

Of course Krem looks up. Spots the sprig of green leaves and white berries tied together with a red bow, one of many hanging from the rafters.

“Mistletoe.” Maryden’s soft fingers against his chest starling and new, Krem jerking his gaze back down to face her. “Do you know what happens when people stand under mistletoe Krem?”

Her fingers against his neck now, curling around the back to pull his head down. Krem gulps, hard. Heart trying to beat its way out of his chest, heat across his whole face. “They kiss.”

Maryden smiles and tilts her head so her lips are ghosting over Krem’s. “That’s right, they kiss.”

Soft lips tasting of cider, of warm firelight and music. Krem gasps, air leaving his lungs in a heady rush. Time freezing, halting around them as Maryden presses her lips against his under the mistletoe with a flower stained with ink held in her hands between them. Heart bursting in his chest, butterflies fleeing to his veins and the whole of him feels like he could fly.

Moments passing too quickly when Maryden pulls back slightly, “Happy Satinalia Krem,” Murmured against kissed lips, half-lidded eyes and a smile brighter than any hearth.

“Happy Satinalia Maryden.”

"When the party is over you absolutely have to read me your poems."

What fool Krem is indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry! i do know maryden doesn't play the lute but i don't know what it Actually is either so i went with the most recognizable term. also yes, i do know that amaryllis is symbolic of unrequited love but! krem thinks his affections are unrequited! so! it fits! [also i couldn't pass up the chance for a sneaky tpp ref because apart from dragon age its the thing that Owns My Ass <3]


End file.
